Her
by insatiablecuriosity
Summary: She's going to be the death of him, but can he really leave?


Originally written for the Skyrim Kink Meme.

Standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

_This_, he thought bitterly, was how the great Marcurio of Cyrodiil, aspiring wizard, was going to die: _tickled_ to death by none other than the Dragonborn herself.

At best he'd get some random anecdote in the history books. At worst, some idiot bard would make a terrible song out of it. Either way, he ended up with the worst part of the deal: dead and dubiously remembered.

He never should have convinced her to hire him. That was the worst part of the whole thing. At least, it was the worst when he wasn't fending off her fingers… But no, he simply _had_ to approach the most impressionable young thing in that wretched inn, in that wretched town. And she'd looked so damned innocent, too! That would teach him to regale sweet, wide-eyed little Bosmer with hearts as black as a daedra's. Not that they were actually black, mind you, but that's not the point...

Marcurio somehow twisted free of her roving hands and took off across the plains. It wasn't a terribly fast run, but _you_ try running hard after being winded! The important part was that he got away. Temporarily. He never got very far, and some days he wondered why even even bothered, but it was the principle of the thing! Or, at the very least, it was worth a few lungfuls of air…

It wasn't as though she'd ever give up, anyway. He wasn't sure whether it was her Bosmer heritage or the dragon soul that drove her to hunt, and really, at times like these, it didn't honestly matter. Whatever the reason, she enjoyed it. And her delighted, wicked little laugh dogged his footsteps every time she did.

If only she found something else to do other than torment him! He cursed, not for the first time, the day she found out. He'd inadvertently zapped her while dealing with a few bandits, and she had pouted and poked him where she claimed he struck her. Unfortunately for him, that had been her ribs, which meant that she poked his. Which meant that he had started in shock. Which then resulted in him backed against a stone wall shouting for all he was worth. She stopped when more bandits had arrived and he'd chosen to use the bow instead. But his consideration for her well-being went unheeded, and she'd playfully poked his side once more before they continued on their way.

Of course, the inn they found that night had only one room left. She'd harassed him there, too: he was in the middle of removing his outer robe, so he hadn't seen her coming. He spent the rest of his bedtime preparations staring at her, even if he did look ridiculous. Better to look foolish and bump into minor obstacles than to risk being caught unawares.

He'd been more than relieved to find that she was above attacking him in his sleep, though he'd spent a few uncertain hours waiting for what had seemed to be the inevitable. It certainly didn't help his stress levels when she crawled under the covers with him, and snuggled into his side. But she had sighed, inexplicably content, and buried her face into his neck.

In retrospect, that was the first time he'd ever paid any serious attention to how much time they spent together. Or how often they inadvertently invaded each other's space. There were things you took for granted on the road, things that were less acceptable when you were at home. But being practical in the wilderness meant you were more likely to stay alive, so many social constructs simply ceased to matter. At least until you found yourself back in civilization.

But the Dragonborn was anything but civilized company. Not to say that she wasn't civilized, but it appeared that she had been awfully sheltered from the world until late. Not just the world, but other elves. There were odd gaps in her knowledge about her own people, things like the Green Pact that even outsiders knew of. It meant that she was always asking questions, much to the annoyance of her kind. Among the races of men, she wasn't much better.

Marcurio winced inwardly at the memory of their last visit to Windhelm. As a man, he couldn't abide by how she had been treated by the unsuitably named Rolff Stone-Fist. As her protector, she had made him stand by and watch her defend her own honor. And as a friend, he had stayed by her side in the New Gnisis Cornerclub, weathering the unpleasantness hurled his way to comfort her.

The elves there, however, had not been terribly generous in their sympathies. Ultimately, he had taken her to Candlehearth Hall, where even if there were no friendly faces, at least there was a quiet room that was actually clean. He had gone so far as to tease her, trying to goad her into attacking him, in an effort to shake her from her deep withdrawal from the world. In the end, simply holding her and waiting had brought her out. She had shed a few silent tears into his robes, before succumbing to sleep in his arms.

He had never been more homesick in his life. And watching her pathetic form, hand clutching feebly at his clothes, he found that he was not the only stranger in Skyrim.

They had headed straight for Whiterun, as soon as they were able. And her spirits had picked up considerably when they had come within sight of Dragonsreach. At first he had thought it was because the city was large and the inhabitants generally accepting. But he had found out rather quickly that she liked a few things in particular about this rather, a few particular people. Like who he could blame for introducing her to alchemy.

He distinctly recalled the first time he had caught her at it. They had been wandering the forest late at night when they found that yet another one of her optimistically named "shortcuts" had led them astray yet again. He had been lecturing her on the merits of reading maps as they stumbled their way through the woods, when the dancing lights had caught her attention. He simply dropped the subject and followed her, for he'd learned by then that once she been distracted, there was no point in trying to tell her anything.

But watching her carefully make her way to the delicate torchbugs, as they flitted this way and that, was as magical a moment as you could have asked for. There she was, in innocent wide-eyed wonder, hesitantly reaching out to the diminutive lights. One of the insects had decided to perch on her palm, and she carefully brought it back to her face, the soft glow highlighting her features. He had held his breath for a moment then, the sight of her communing with nature, rendering him speechless in affectionate awe.

That was about the moment she had stuffed the unsuspecting thing in her mouth.

He'd lost it then.

_"Seriously?!"_

She just stood there sheepishly, the dying flicker of torchbug lighting up her cheeks. Of _course_ she'd pick up one of the weirder hobbies to be had in Tamriel… Thankfully, she'd never had the courage to eat a giant's toe, no matter what Arcadia said. The girl had seemed content to just follow recipes that included its use, but there were a few incidents where she very nearly did. Roasted toes on sticks did not make for good eating, not that he would know, but it was worth forgoing supper just once to watch her try. Hearing her whimper as she held them over the fire, and then grimacing as she tried to find the will to actually eat them, had made for a mildly entertaining evening.

Marcurio whirled around. He could have sworn she threw something at him. When he felt a second, more insistent bump, he looked down and swore. The Dragonborn had set _rabbits_ on his sorry hide. This was going to end badly. The little things were fast, and for all their cuteness, had rather sharp teeth. Hopefully she hadn't sent too many after him. Which of course meant the that odds were good that she had…

That was another thing he hated. Damned elves and their… nature thing. Whatever it was. All he knew was that she used her native talents to make his life difficult. Not always intentionally, but that was usually how it went.

Like that time she'd nearly gotten them killed fetching a mammoth tusk for Ysolda. The aspiring merchant girl had been above getting the thing herself, apparently. Or didn't have the money to buy one. Or too sensible to try removing one from the animal. Whatever the real reason, his employer had grabbed the Nord woman's hands and eagerly promised to bring her one. He'd assumed that she would have checked the local shops, but when she hadn't, he'd assumed that the Dragonborn had given up or forgotten the enterprise. It wasn't till they came in sight of a giant's camp that he realized that his employer meant to bring her friend a _fresh_ one.

He had not been planning on getting caught between angry giant and a rampaging mammoth in the rain.

The giant had taken offense to strangers marching up to his animal, and responded by swinging his club at them. At that point, his employer had simply done her elf thing, and bade the mammoth attack the giant. Up till then, he'd assumed that stories of how the Bosmer could control animals were simply stories. But the reality of it was worse: it gave tiny little Dragonborns bad ideas.

And what had they gotten in return for surviving that mess?

Ysolda had blathered on about shady Khajiit caravans and shady business deals. On the upside, it seemed to improve his employer's business sense. But not by enough to stop making crazy deals with every other stranger she met. He'd lost track of the number of times they'd delved into draugr infested tombs and necromancer dens because someone misplaced some random bit of jewelry or other. It meant that he had stories to rival that of the Companions, but that wasn't something he was all that pleased about. Bragging rights are nice, but if you're constantly gambling your ability to brag, it might not be worth the effort. He liked living too much to enjoy the lifestyle, and he often cursed becoming a mercenary.

But he couldn't quite convince himself that he regretted selling his services to her.

For all her nuttiness, she was still the kindest soul he'd ever met. And it was mostly because of that nature, that she was constantly in trouble. He'd lost count of the number of times she'd wandered into bandit camps looking to mediate. A hopelessly naive, though sweet notion that people were ultimately good in the end. He'd also forgotten how often she had tried enchanting things for people. He was pretty sure that miners did not need shovels with fire enchantments on them. But in a way, her twisted logic made an odd sort of sense: most owners did not want their men equipped with weapons down there, so why not weaponize the only tools they had? It didn't change the fact that most miners had no combat training, but she had tried…

Marcurio sighed as he toasted the bunny horde with his magic. There was nothing simple about her, except for how simple her heart was. He could almost admire her for somehow keeping her innocence for so long, especially considering how hard life could be in Skyrim. How hard her life had to have been, despite how unnaturally lucky she was at times. Clearly, some Aedra or Deadra wanted her to live long enough to do her Dragonborn duty. He'd have called such unnatural fortune unfair if he wasn't aware of the sort of trouble their blessings brought.

When the last of the rabbit onslaught had been roasted, Marcurio looked up and cursed: his employer was nowhere in sight. That could only mean one thing. It was _her_ turn to hunt.

Marcurio swore again. Her spellcraft had been his fault. His second mistake, after convincing her to hire him. He'd sold her on the utility of magic by demonstrating his limited abilities in Restoration. But an ill-fated visit to the College of Winterhold had introduced her to the school of Illusion. He would have been perfectly happy with her learning "Clairvoyance" if it meant that they'd get lost less frequently. But _someone_ had to go and show her how to cast "Invisibility". That particular demonstration had ended her forays into Restoration, and had only added fuel to the school's political fire. And that was _before_ the damned Thalmor had to go and blow things up on campus… literally.

He scanned his surroundings carefully, hoping to catch sight of footprints in the grass. Maybe even the tell-tale scrape of light armour on rock. Nothing. He had to catch her soon, because he couldn't count on the spell wearing off before she jumped him.

No such luck. Her spell broke as she pounced from not two feet in front of him. The Dragonborn slammed into his chest, driving the air from his lungs, and they tumbled over into the grass. Not a moment later, he was shouting again, as she resumed her onslaught on his ribs.

Somehow, he managed to catch hold of her wrists and wrangle them behind her in a pinning hug. And for a few moments, he lay there panting on his back, as she lay pinned on top of him, giggling all the while.

He waited for her to calm down, before asking. "Are you done?"

Lifting up her head, the Dragonborn nodded vigorously, and smiled at him. The smile was too wide for his liking, but at the moment, he didn't have the energy to fight her for much longer. He simply closed his eyes and hoped for the best as he released her. It wasn't as though praying had ever helped.

For a moment, nothing happened. But he tensed when she lifted herself into a straddling position. What was she up to now?

"Marcurio?"

He opened his eyes warily, "What is it?"

She was staring at him again, with those wide eyes of hers. She looked uncertain, and yet hopeful.

"Need something?" He asked.

She blinked and swallowed nervously.

This was starting to bother him. What was she so afraid of?

He sat up, holding her to him so he wouldn't unseat her. She clutched the front of his robes and stared hard at his chest. Now he was worried. She didn't often get this tongue-tied unless something was wrong.

"Hey…" He placed his free hand under her chin and lifter her head up. What he saw stunned him.

The Dragonborn was _blushing_.

Was _this_ what all that tickling had been about? Was she that painfully shy?

Nothing for it. He tilted her head up just a bit more and kissed her.

There was a nerve-wracking moment as her felt her stiffen in surprise, but he felt her eyelashes flutter shut as she relaxed into the kiss, her hands tightening their grip on his robes. He brought up the hand around her waist to cradle her head as his lips parted from hers. She gasped at the loss, and trembled slightly, completely lost at what to do. It was adorable, really. Adorable despite her crazy.

"Well. Would you look at that." He said gently, the beginnings of a smirk forming on his face.

She blinked once, and her mouth opened in shock. A second later she pouted. He saw the beginnings of retribution forming, but he couldn't care less at the moment. He simply laughed at her distress and kissed her again, earning an indignant squeak. She didn't pull away, but she did punch him half-heartedly as she gave in.

So maybe he was wrong about those idiot bards. At worst, he'd be relegated to being her sidekick in all the songs and stories, rather than dead and disregarded. And while it didn't have quite the same as cache of "The Greatest Wizard in Tamriel", there were definitely worse things he could have settled for.

Besides, it's not as though she could stay away. She'd be hopelessly lost without him.

"Ready to go?" He asked.

She nodded.

They slowly disentangled themselves and dusted off.

Putting his hands on his hips, he asked, "So! Where to, oh great and fearless leader?"

She laughed at that, and prepared to cast Clairvoyance. When she did, he was pleased to see that it pointed back to Whiterun.

"Alright then. Once more into danger!" She ruined his show of marching off by trying to poke him in his ribs. She missed, and he broke into a run for the city. It didn't bother her in the least, and she laughed as she chased him once again across the windy plains.


End file.
